Welp. Here we go.

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Excuse the whining. I swear, I really am capable of writing something other than this emo-crap I’ve been spewing lately. I guess I’m just having a hard time being sick (again) and don’t know what else to do than vent via my blog. I don’t know.

So this round of being sick is kicking my anxiety and depression into full gear. I’m just so tired of being sick all the time. I’ve been trying to remember a day where I felt completely normal, that way I can look forward to something in the future, have something to look forward to. You know? I can’t actually remember a day where I didn’t feel pain (since my daughter was born). I can’t remember a day where I haven’t dealt with this in some way shape or form.

I can’t remember a day where I didn’t curse my health and wish to be a normal woman in her 20’s.

I’m tired of waking up and getting sick. I’m tired of the constant stomach pain. I’m tired of the body aches (also see: my body is on fire). I’m tired of not being able to eat with out fear. I’m tired of not being as active as I’d like to be. I’m tired of not sleeping. I’m so fucking done with this disease, except for it’s not done with me.

It’s frustrating really. I’ll have a good morning or few hours or something, then it comes back. It’s like it dangles the proverbial carrot (of fucking health) over my head and then right as I’m going to reach it… YANK. Too bad, so sad. Feeling normal? Feeling healthy? Not in the cards.

I am miserable. Freaking miserable. I’m so tired of this. Every muscle in my body ACHES. EVERY SINGLE MUSCLE. It’s like I went through a mosh pit at hatebreed. My body huurts. I can’t get comfortable at night any more. Sometimes light exercise (dancing) will help and I’ll get some relief for a couple hours, but again it never lasts. My joints? Knees, shoulders and hands… yeah. How old am I? 80? Fucking-Christ-On-A-Stick. Where’s my walker. The stomach pain and bathroom trips are worse than ever. It’s back to waking me up out of a dead sleep (once I finally fall asleep). It’s been since I was first diagnosed that it’s been bad enough to do that. Now? Nausea? Brand new for me. The only time I used to get nauseous was when the stomach pain got really bad. Now? Constant. I ate lunch yesterday thank god, because god knows I haven’t been able to hold down dinner, pills or anything non-liquid. That’s most likely due to the meds I’m on. But whatever. Just one more way to be miserable.

For those of you who know me personally, this should tell you how miserable I feel and how fucked up in the head I am. I would do almost anything to get some relief. A weeks stay in the hospital is preferable to a week in Aruba at this point. I’m not a pain pill person (Vicodin be damned, a whole prescription… too bad I’d rather stab myself in the eye) but I would kill for an IV. Just something to give me 1 day of relief. One day. That’s all I ask.

One day.

So I have an appointment with my G.I. doctor today. Those have been few and far between since I don’t have the cash to pay for them. My family is paying this time, which I absolutely hate, but I need to see my doctor. Plus he’s getting pissed about working for free via the phone. I have no idea what we’re going to do, it’s difficult since I can’t afford half of the medicine that would help me. I don’t know. I honestly have no clue. I’m just hoping I don’t cry in the office too much. Oh and there will be crying. I hate to admit it, but I can’t stop lately.

One thing that is kind of bitter sweet? My support system. I have found so much support from strangers on Twitter and Forums. I reach out, and SOMEONE SOMEWHERE reaches back and talks to me. I have support from my girls all over the United States, my girls from the Cafe. I have the support of K who has UC. I have the support of B, which I feel bad about since a lot of it lands on him. I have the kind words of acquaintances and random friends here and there. I appreciate it all. I do. But yet again, when I’m sick, a lot of people who spend their time telling me how much they value my friendship, how much they love me aren’t there. People who strive to call me a “close friend” are gone. Hell. Some family members that I would bleed for haven’t even texted me. The sad thing is I expect as much, but that doesn’t make the sting any less painful.

I realize that some people just can’t handle someone they know being sick, especially with a disease they can’t physically see. I get that. Hell, I’ve been in the same position. I realize that a lot of people are friends with me purely because I’m “fun” and keep things going. Because I go out. I’m not so fun anymore. So I think some of those people are gone.

I don’t know. The friends that have checked up on me via text and facebook, phone and in person mean the world to me. A lot of them have caught me off gaurd because I didn’t realize they cared that much. However, those people, those people who have managed to make my life a little more bearable, make the fact that the people I expected to stand by me have bailed hurt all the more.